


Two for Joy

by mistrali



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 09:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistrali/pseuds/mistrali
Summary: “But this was London, six months after the averted apocalypse.”





	Two for Joy

 

A raven was circling at the periphery of his vision. Aziraphale remembered the aftermath of the Flood, returning to Earth after it was all over and seeing the black shape fly out over the water...

But this was London, six months after the averted apocalypse. And these were crows. Two of them, in fact, fluttering down to land on the grass near the leg of a Slovenian attaché. And this was _Crowley_ , in what passed for the summer sun in London [1], sprawled across Aziraphale’s chest in a way that, if they had been anything other than two cele- higher- well, non-earthly Beings, Aziraphale would have called _intimate_. But then, it didn’t matter yet that they were immortal enemies who were friends. It wouldn’t for another six thousand years, and probably not even then. [2] Heaven and Hell would forget about it soon enough. They always did. 

He tossed a bit of ham and rye to one of the birds, which eyed it with corvid disdain [3]. In Egypt he used to keep Hatsheptut supplied with pairs of these, to symbolise fidelity. Here people thought them an omen of death, or bad luck.

Talking of which, it occurred to him that he’d just helped stop the world from ending and hadn’t heard a peep about it from Michael.

“Have you heard anything, dear?” he asked. “You don’t think they’re - they’re massing their forces again?”

“Nah,” said Crowley sleepily, slithering up to wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s neck. “They’ll be licking their wounds. And sorting out the paperwork. Anyway, it’ll be your lot next time, mark my words. Like that film Day of the Dead. The end of days, bodies rising up all warm and pulpy and maggot-infested, pus oozing from their sores. Christ bloody risen again.”

Aziraphale winced. “Really, my dear, there’s no need for blasphemy.”

Crowley laughed. “C’mon, angel, no one’s counting anymore. No one’s even paying attention. It’s over for the next ten years at least.”

“Not quite,” whispered Aziraphale, thinking of his bookshop, of the wines still to be sampled, the books to be hoarded and the long, lazy afternoons stretching out ahead of them. A deep happiness welled up inside him, as it hadn’t in centuries. “Not by a long road. If we’ve got a decade of peace, then let’s spend it as we ought.”

If you want to imagine a decade, imagine this: an angel and a demon, buying a cottage. Together.

—-

[1] It was trying to be inconspicuous.

[2] Crowley was cautiously pessimistic about the possibility of another Doomsday. Aziraphale would believe it when it happened.

[3] Like human disdain, but a lot beadier.


End file.
